DISCLAIMER: This story is entirely based on characters from George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire

SPRING

Spring was returning to the North. The trees had not grown new leaves or even buds, nor did any of the wild flowers of the wolfswood or the gardens in Winterfell yet bloom. But the air was less frigid and did not bite at exposed skin or cause icicles to form on men's beards or horses' manes and tails, and some days the sun shone from behind grey clouds for a few hours, and when it did, there could be heard a steady drip-drip of melting snow and ice from the walls, turrets and ramshackle outbuildings of Winterfell. The yard sometimes showed more mud underfoot than snow, and soldiers and craftsmen scraped their boots instead of simply stamping their feet free of snow before entering the halls and castle.

Though no sun shone that morning, the air was mild enough so that Sansa could pause before the open shutters of her chamber and rest her hands on the windowsill without shivering violently and racing back before the hearth to warm herself. She breathed deeply, feeling the fresh air fill her body and hope fill her heart.

Winter has almost ended…and we have survived.

Sansa was not foolish, and had not been for some years: her girlish innocence had been very suddenly and violently taken from her in the game of thrones, a game she had never sought to play and yet into which she had been drawn as a pawn. Because of her terrible experiences, she knew would always be hardship in store for her family, Winterfell and the North. Winter is coming were the Stark family words; and the winter had been long and hard and the devastating wars that had preceded it had not abated while snow and ice and bitter cold and the accompanying rationing and even starvation had fallen on them.

But they had triumphed over their enemies, human and not, and the rightful queen Daenerys Stormborn, who had helped lead the Northmen to victory against the Boltons and the Freys and then the Others with her dragons, now sat the Iron Throne in King's Landing. The young dragon queen had wasted no time in conquering and then rebuilding the Seven Kingdoms, and Sansa had never regretted bending the knee to the Targaryan claimant, though she had balked at the cost of sending her sister Arya south with the queen's court as guarantee of the Stark family loyalty. But Daenerys, mayhaps due to Arya's presence, had never failed them nor forgotten them, and what supplies and rations could be spared for the North's survival had been forthcoming. Still, many had suffered and many had died.

Under my rule as warden of the North, Sansa reminded herself, though she never forgot.

She sighed, remembering her duty when only moments ago she had almost felt unburdened, even carefree. She meant to close the shutters again but turned back as she heard the distant sounds of hammers and chisels echoing off the stone walls, and the clash and clanging of swords as the garrison trained in the yard under the command of her lord husband. She smiled again. They may have not been able to conquer winter, but winter was finally abating as well.

To her startled surprise, a small bird landed before her on the windowsill, and just as quickly flew off again in the direction of the godswood at the sound of her delighted gasp. Suddenly she was aware of the sound of their flutter and birdsong from deep within the still-bare trees of the refuge of the old gods.

"Little bird," she murmured dreamily before closing the shutters. A sharp knock sounded at her chamber door.

"Come in, Osha," she called, knowing the wildling woman's knock from any other in Winterfell. Osha was a tall and stringy woman with harsh features weathered by the far north beyond the Wall and its hardships; but she was selflessly devoted to Sansa's younger brother Rickon whom she had hidden and cared for when they were forced to flee Winterfell after the Ironborn had invaded the North. She had remained with them when the Stark children had returned to claim their father's castle and their family's legacy in the North, and had been of invaluable assistance in helping survive the winter and in having other stray wildlings work and defend the castle and fight for the North. Where Sansa was loved and respected in Winterfell, Osha was quietly feared. Though she was brusque and unrefined, she had a loyalty that Sansa returned unreservedly, knowing she could trust the woman with their lives.

The wildling woman entered the chamber holding Sansa's youngest child, her son Robb; named for her eldest brother who was once King in the North...until he was murdered.

"Th'nurse said he needs feedin', m'lady; an' she'ad 'er hands full'o th'other two," Osha told her.

"Thank you, Osha, I fear I have taken too much time for myself this morning," Sansa told her apologetically. She reached for her baby boy, now nearly a year old. She would still nurse in the morning and at night to help put him to sleep but she had needed to wean him early as she had her first two children. The Lady of Winterfell and the Warden of the North had precious little time for nursing. Sansa prayed that her children would still grow strong. Already they had been subject to colds, fevers and rashes, more than she could remember herself or any of her siblings having had as children but, alas, there was no one from her early life at Winterfell to confirm her fears.

Oh, Mother, how I have longed for you these years. Sansa no longer let herself dwell on the deaths of her parents which meant they would never see their grandchildren, but she wished for guidance in raising own her children, such as her mother had with Old Nan and later Septa Mordane. Sansa had a nurse sent to her by the Flints of the mountain clans, as well as the wildling women in the castle and occasionally Maege Mormont of Bear Island, affectionately, and respectfully, known as the She-Bear, and she was grateful but it was not the same as having her own mother.

"A woman's needin' time t'herself, m'lady, though most'o us never gets none; take it wheres ye can, I says, m'lady," Osha said in her flat voice.

Sansa smiled to, tempted again to tell the wildling woman how grateful she was for staying with them and refraining, knowing she would get the same stony acknowledgement her gratitude always got from the wildling. Instead she simple agreed with her.

"I believe you are right, Osha. And I do hope you find some time for yourself as well."

"Wha' would I do wit'time t'meself, m'lady? Embroider cushions an'all?"

Sansa coloured in embarrassment, though she knew the comment was not a slight to her. The wildling neither read nor wrote nor practiced needlework beyond rudimentary mending. She had been a spearwife, and could fight fiercely and hunt and trap game and cook over fires and bind wounds and… well, they were called spearwives.

Sansa coloured again at her thoughts: Osha now shared her chambers with an older man from the mountain clans who had lost a foot, from fighting or frostbite the man had never said; but when he showed up at Winterfell offering to work hard for his keep, he had been taken in and had been true to his word. He had a good hand with animals and, hobbling around on his crutches, had tended their meagre livestock as best he could with the rationed fodder and in the killing cold and they had survived. In time, their numbers had even increased. The beasts were still scrawny but Sansa hoped they would improve once there was grass for grazing and that they would breed heartily under his care. Meanwhile the man had asked Osha to marry him before the heart tree in the godswood, in the manner of the old gods, and Sansa suspected that Osha was beginning to warm to the idea.

Traditionally wildling women were carried off by strong, fierce men who would fight for them; but abductions were not permitted under Sansa's rule as warden and the loss of so many Northern men in battles had meant that younger and prettier girls of the commons were willing to marry wildling men, a choice made acceptable by the Lady Alys of House Karstark's marriage to the Magnar of Thenn and her ladies' marriages with his own fighting men. Some of these newly wed couples had settled in the lands around Karhold; others in the Gift, and Sansa hoped that more would be willing to settle in villages and on crofts throughout the North. The land needed to be repopulated, crops needed to be raised and harvested, and castles and villages needed craftsmen and trade. Provided that they should be willing to live by the laws, the wildlings would be most welcome. So Sansa guessed that even a hobbling older man was welcome to Osha now as well: she was not like to find better, and did not seem inclined to leave the castle.

"I suppose I only meant that I hope you are happy in Winterfell, Osha," Sansa reassured her.

"Iffen I wasn't I'd be somewheres else, wouldn'I, m'lady?" Osha replied reasonably.

Sansa smiled. "Yes, Osha, you would very well be," she affirmed. Then she winced slightly. "Done already, my sweet boy?" she spoke to her son.

She shifted him to her other arm and pulled the neck and sleeve of her wool dress back over her shoulder so that Osha could re-tie her laces. Then she sat him in her lap to look at him. "My sweet, sweet Robb," she crooned and her son smiled and reached out to her so that Sansa held him tightly to her, rocking him in her embrace. Her third child and second son did resemble his namesake, her eldest brother, or so she was convinced. He had her auburn hair and deep Tully-blue eyes, as did her elder son, named for her father Eddard and called Ned as he had been; but Ned's hair was much darker and he already showed signs that he had inherited his father's heavy brow and hooked nose, whereas Robb had brighter hair and the more regular features that her brother had once had. And he seemed to love her, Sansa thought: he always smiled to see her and rested easily in her arms and clung to her affectionately. Birthing him had very nearly cost her life and she had promised him when she had first held him that she would never blame him or fail to love him, for it had not been his fault. She had wanted him, as she had wanted all her children, and would never grudge him how he had come into the world.

She had made Sandor promise him as well, she remembered solemnly now: had made him promise on what then could possibly have been her deathbed to never resent or to blame their child.

Promise me, Sandor…and promise him…that you shall always love him, no matter what…no matter what should happen. Please, my love, do not blame him if I-

He had clutched her hand tightly then, his saddened eyes suddenly as fierce and angry as they had been when she first knew him as the Hound.

You won't…you can't…don't you leave me, little bird: you hear me? I don't want to be without you.

You must look after the children, Sandor, and love them all. Promise me. Sandor: promise me.

She had begged him tearfully, and he had promised her. Sansa had lived and they had kept their promises, to their children and to each other.

I promised him, she reminded herself as she glanced towards their big bed, covered in furs and fitted with a rough wooden headboard draped with a faded shawl, her attempt to cheer the still mostly bare room with its blackened ceilings and scarred wooden beams.

Once she had been out of danger, the maester had spoken to them to advise that Sansa should not attempt to have any more children until she had sufficiently recovered from the difficult birth and regained her strength. He had spoken delicately, knowing what his counsel would mean to them: they were not to share a bed for-

"A year?!" Sansa had exclaimed with dismay.

The maester had pursed his lips unhappily but persisted. "At the very least, my lady; though two years would serve better. You have lost much blood and there is not sufficient food at Winterfell to aid in a swifter recovery of your strength. I am sorry, my lord," he had added, inclining his head to Sandor who sat silently as the man had spoken, "but I would not counsel such a- a necessity if I did not think it in the best interest of Lady Clegane's health."

Sandor had nodded imperceptibly but then replied in a quiet rasp: "It shall be as you say then, maester."

"No!" Sansa insisted with uncharacteristic outspokenness. "Surely maester," she tried to recover her composure, "there must be some other course…moon tea, perhaps," she suggested tentatively, hoping that he would not disapprove.

"There is no moon tea in Winterfell, my lady; at least not that I am aware of," he offered. "The ingredients cannot be cultivated in winter and there are none in our depleted stores. Of course, I can make discreet inquiries at other castles…at Bear Island mayhaps?"

"Please, maester, if you would be so good-"

"I will do my best, my lady, however I still counsel that you…abstain for some time to allow yourself to heal?" He glanced awkwardly at Sandor who again shortly nodded his agreement. Once the maester had left, Sansa turned to Sandor.

"Sandor, we cannot-"

But he looked at her stony-faced and unyielding: "We will do as the maester advises until you are well," he rasped almost formally.

Sansa dropped her eyes and blushed. "But, Sandor, a year? Surely he exaggerates-"

"Two years was his counsel."

She shook her head stubbornly. "I cannot believe that you would care for me so little as to agree-"

"I will not lose you," he rasped darkly. "I almost did this once…and years ago; I won't risk it again."

Sansa swallowed her tears. "But if we cannot share a bed, nor have any more children, Sandor, then we may as well be lost to each other," she argued.

She saw him close his eyes tightly before looking at her again.

"It's not forever, little bird: just until you are well again," he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes filled now. "It's so very long, it will feel like forever," she sobbed.

He sighed slowly through his nose. "Might be…in time, mind you, that we find…other ways to be together, little bird; without risking children. We have done before," he reminded her archly with a raised brow.

Sansa sniffled. "So, you will stay with me," she prompted encouragingly, "in our bed?"

He hesitated. "Not as yet," he rasped. "I'll stay in the Blackfish's chambers while he visits your brothers at the wall; then I'll find a chamber of my own. One more word," he warned her when he saw that she would argue again, "and I'll bed down in the stables with Stranger for the next two years," he threatened, and Sansa believed him.

Reluctantly, she nodded.

"You got a promise from me, little bird, now I'll have one from you: you will do as the maester says and not plead, or pout prettily, or tempt me into doing what will endanger your life," he insisted. "I –I grew up without a mother," he reminded her firmly but haltingly, "and will not have our pups do the same."

Sansa's eyes widened at his words. It was the most he had said about his unhappy childhood in years, and she could understand his concern for her and their children. Her heart softened towards him, even as it sank to think of so long without him in her bed.

"I- I promise, Sandor. I- you are right to think of the children foremost; I just wish…" she reached for his hand but he crossed his arms over his chest. She withdrew her hand. "I promise," she repeated instead.

That had been a year ago, Sansa thought now, as she held her youngest to her. An entire year had passed and though Sandor sometimes came to their bed so that they could pleasure each other and even to hold her, he often returned to the separate chamber he now occupied, leaving Sansa to sleep and wake alone as she had when they first returned to Winterfell and they sought to hide their love from the others in the castle.

His small chamber was near their daughter Catya's bedchamber and the nursery where their sons slept with the nurse. She had been touched that he had chosen to be near their children instead of choosing a chamber on the same hallway with her brother Rickon and the Blackfish. She had sometimes found him with the children when she went to visit during the day or in the evening when they were being bathed and they all sat together as Sansa told them stories or sang them to sleep. It was usually after such evenings that he would accompany her back to their bed, even sometimes pulling her into a darkened alcove or empty hallway to kiss her hungrily and lift her skirts to touch her as she tore at his lacings and eased his want for her with her hands or her mouth. They both had shattering peaks that left them weak and panting, but for Sansa it was never enough. She wanted him desperately, wanted him to have her so badly that she almost wished to cry and plead with him. But she had promised, and so she never begged but cried into her bolster instead, sometimes unleashing torrents of bitter tears to release her frustration and loneliness. Osha may believe that a lady needed time to herself but Sansa had had quite enough time to herself. She wanted Sandor back.

In her loneliness, Sansa had become jealous of how and where Sandor spent his time away from her. She suspected him of avoiding her and so sometimes invented reasons to seek him out, only to discover that he was making plans to breed his courser with the best mares in the castle stables. He even consulted with the old man who handled the livestock to learn what he knew of horse breeding and birthing. Other times, she knew he had been to the maester to read any scrolls he might have on the matter. Since there were few, the maester again offered to inquire at other castles for him. Sansa was pleased that Sandor had developed an interest to occupy him, and she knew how much he cared for his prize warhorse. But he had not shared his interest or his plans with her, and so it only served to increase her sense of loneliness. She felt a failure, that her husband should be more interested in the mating and breeding of his courser than he should be with mating and breeding with her.

Suddenly restless, she rose now with her son still in her arms.

"I will take Robb to the nurse, Osha, thank you."

"Aye, m'lady," the woman replied. "I'm off te see the lit'l lord breaks his fast afore trainin' wit' Lord Clegane."

As she approached her children's rooms, she was surprised to hear them clamoring excitedly until she stood in the doorway and saw Sandor standing over them, still sweaty from training though divested of his armour and gauntlets.

"Papa Dog!" Catya gushed her nickname for him as she hugged his leg. Her dark hair was growing past her shoulders and she had tiny, square white teeth; so far, all even. She had her father's grey eyes. Catya adored her Papa, and had called him papa Dog since she was old enough to understand the dog sigil that Sansa had stitched to his tunics.

"Your Papa Dog had come to sniff his pups!" he rasped and bent to push his nose into Catya's neck, making her squeal and giggle happily. Then he stepped to take Ned from the nurse and growled playfully at him. Ned gazed at him with steady blue eyes before feebly growling back. Sandor then sat on a wooden bench with a child on either side of him before he looked up and saw Sansa.

"Here's your Mama come to see her pups too," he told them. "My lady," he greeted her. "How is that little one?" he nodded indicating Robb.

"His belly is full of milk and his eyes are full of sleep," she replied. "A kiss from your Papa then, and back to dreaming," she crooned to the sleepy boy. She held him out to Sandor who leaned to kiss his brow before handing him to the nurse to set him down in his cradle near the hearth.

Sansa sat on the bench next to her daughter and smiled at Sandor. "I believe spring is nigh upon us, my lord," she began hopefully.

"Aye, and much to be done before it is. Do you sit the high seat today, my lady?"

"Y-yes, I hope to parcel out more land for crofts. There are many worthy commons and soldiers who would seek a new life now, a life with families and crops and-"

"I needs break my fast before training with Rickon. Let me escort you to the hall. Children, be good for nurse, or we'll let her take you back to the mountains to her people."

"No!" shrieked Catya with a childish pout. "No leave Mama and Papa dog!"

"Then be a little lady like your Mama: mind your nurse, and your brothers."

"I be good. I wide wit' Papa Dog," she called after him.

Sandor turned and stopped, considering her words. "Alright, girl: if you are good you can ride with your Papa Dog," he rasped gently.

"Stwaingeh."

He nodded once. "We'll ride Stranger. Twice around the yard, I promise."

Once in the passageway, Sansa spoke again. "It is remarkable that Stranger lets you ride with Catya and yet he will still try to bite your squire."

"My squire's not my pup; Stranger knows. I'd let cook make stew of his hindquarters if Catya were harmed," he only half-jested.

"I thought you hoped to put him out to stud," she ventured.

Sandor grunted absently. "Might be I will…in the spring. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, in my…our chambers-"

"Then I'll leave you. Looks like the maester awaits you, my lady," he nodded in his direction near the high seat as he stepped away to join his soldiers at tables near the great hearth. Sansa stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. He looked at her curiously.

"If it please you, my lord," she spoke more formally when there were others about, believing he deserved the respect of his rank and position, "I-I have news to share from the maester," she spoke hesitantly, "and it is…private. Mayhaps we may speak in the solar after your training with Rickon?"

Sandor eyed her sharply now but bowed his head. "If it please you, my lady," he rasped with equal formality before turning away.

Sansa wrung her hands together as she watched him walk away. Only that morning, the maester had come to her chambers and brought her welcome news.

He had closed the door behind him and spoken confidentially to her. "My lady, the lessened cold and snow has permitted riders between Winterfell and White Harbor to travel more easily. I am happy to report, and hope that you and Lord Clegane will be happy as well," he hesitated, "that I have received replenishments of many herbs and remedies…and may now provide you with efficacious moon tea…if that is still your wish, my lady."

Sansa felt exultant at the news, and needed to refrain herself to embracing the maester. Instead she stood demurely with her hands held together and thanked him graciously.

"I- I will needs consult with my lord, maester; but I thank you for your assistance, as always. Will we be greeting more commons in the hall this day?"

"We will, my lady: there are a number who have come to inquire about crofts and places in the Winter town. I cannot help but hope that we will soon be blessed with abundant crops and more trade once spring has truly arrived."

"As do I, maester. Let us pray to the old gods and the new that our hopes are fulfilled. The North needs rise again."

And so Sansa had taken the time to open her shutters and lean out to breathe the fresh air and let her heart fill with hope that Sandor would share her happiness. While she did look forward to her business in the hall and hoped for a place for all her commons and for good harvests, Sansa could also now hope to have Sandor back in their chambers and their bed.